El Dorado, 1851.
I've jest bin down ter Thompson's, boys,'N' feelin' kind o' blue,I thought I'd look in at "The Ranch,"Ter find out what wuz new;When I seen this sign a-hangin'On a shanty by the lake:"Here's whar yer gets yer doughnutsLike yer mother used ter make."I've seen a grizzly show his teeth;I've seen Kentucky PeteDraw out his shooter, 'n' adviseA "tenderfoot" ter treat;But nothin' ever tuk me down'N' made my benders shake,Like that sign about the doughnutsThat my mother used ter make.A sort o' mist shut out the ranch;'N' standin' thar instead,I seen an old white farmhouse,With its doors all painted red.A whiff came through the open door—Wuz I sleepin', or awake?The smell wuz that of doughnutsLike my mother used ter make.The bees wuz hummin' round the porch,Whar honeysuckles grew;A yellow dish of apple-sassWuz sittin' thar in view;'N' on the table, by the stove,An old-time "johnny-cake,"'N' a platter full of doughnutsLike my mother used ter make.A patient form I seemed ter see,In tidy dress of black:I almost thought I heard the words,"When will my boy come back?"'N' then—the old sign creaked; but nowIt was the boss who spake:"Here's whar yer gets yer doughnutsLike yer mother used ter make."Well, boys, that kind o' broke me up;'N' ez I've struck pay gravel,I ruther think I'll pack my kit,Vamose the ranch, 'n' travel.I'll make the old folks jubilant;'N' if I don't mistake,I'll try some o' them doughnutsLike my mother used ter make.Charles Follen Adams.
I've jest bin down ter Thompson's, boys,'N' feelin' kind o' blue,I thought I'd look in at "The Ranch,"Ter find out what wuz new;When I seen this sign a-hangin'On a shanty by the lake:"Here's whar yer gets yer doughnutsLike yer mother used ter make."I've seen a grizzly show his teeth;I've seen Kentucky PeteDraw out his shooter, 'n' adviseA "tenderfoot" ter treat;But nothin' ever tuk me down'N' made my benders shake,Like that sign about the doughnutsThat my mother used ter make.A sort o' mist shut out the ranch;'N' standin' thar instead,I seen an old white farmhouse,With its doors all painted red.A whiff came through the open door—Wuz I sleepin', or awake?The smell wuz that of doughnutsLike my mother used ter make.The bees wuz hummin' round the porch,Whar honeysuckles grew;A yellow dish of apple-sassWuz sittin' thar in view;'N' on the table, by the stove,An old-time "johnny-cake,"'N' a platter full of doughnutsLike my mother used ter make.A patient form I seemed ter see,In tidy dress of black:I almost thought I heard the words,"When will my boy come back?"'N' then—the old sign creaked; but nowIt was the boss who spake:"Here's whar yer gets yer doughnutsLike yer mother used ter make."Well, boys, that kind o' broke me up;'N' ez I've struck pay gravel,I ruther think I'll pack my kit,Vamose the ranch, 'n' travel.I'll make the old folks jubilant;'N' if I don't mistake,I'll try some o' them doughnutsLike my mother used ter make.Charles Follen Adams.
I've jest bin down ter Thompson's, boys,'N' feelin' kind o' blue,I thought I'd look in at "The Ranch,"Ter find out what wuz new;When I seen this sign a-hangin'On a shanty by the lake:"Here's whar yer gets yer doughnutsLike yer mother used ter make."
I've seen a grizzly show his teeth;I've seen Kentucky PeteDraw out his shooter, 'n' adviseA "tenderfoot" ter treat;But nothin' ever tuk me down'N' made my benders shake,Like that sign about the doughnutsThat my mother used ter make.
A sort o' mist shut out the ranch;'N' standin' thar instead,I seen an old white farmhouse,With its doors all painted red.A whiff came through the open door—Wuz I sleepin', or awake?The smell wuz that of doughnutsLike my mother used ter make.
The bees wuz hummin' round the porch,Whar honeysuckles grew;A yellow dish of apple-sassWuz sittin' thar in view;'N' on the table, by the stove,An old-time "johnny-cake,"'N' a platter full of doughnutsLike my mother used ter make.
A patient form I seemed ter see,In tidy dress of black:I almost thought I heard the words,"When will my boy come back?"'N' then—the old sign creaked; but nowIt was the boss who spake:"Here's whar yer gets yer doughnutsLike yer mother used ter make."
Well, boys, that kind o' broke me up;'N' ez I've struck pay gravel,I ruther think I'll pack my kit,Vamose the ranch, 'n' travel.I'll make the old folks jubilant;'N' if I don't mistake,I'll try some o' them doughnutsLike my mother used ter make.
Charles Follen Adams.